Cellar Door by Denim Casimir

Neglect, that is an action used to describe one of my "great" personality traits. Whether it be that I am too busy to communicate with others, or too lazy to, I just hate being bothered by even my closest of companions, or shall I say associates. It's not because I dislike communication, it's just that I am starting to get used to interacting with others on a deeper level. When I was younger I mainly stayed in my corner and would isolate myself from those who were around me. I disliked, well, hated people. All they contribute in life is sorrow, anger and gluttony. They, or shall I say, we are the parasites of the world. I feel horrible for being apart of such a infesting race of animal, I feel worse for being apart of the most inhumane country in the world, but what is humanity truly? I don't know what it is, but I do know it isn't stated in any Webster dictionary. Others seem to be satisfied with the fact that nothing is engaging or enduring around them. I, on the other hand, hated where my life is going. Trapped in a never ending loop of mediocrity, longing for something amazing to occur, but not strong enough to lift the weight of fear off of my chest. I was new here. The anchor of my past was washed away ever since my mother did. A new town, new home, yet the same old feelings of loneliness with an expectation of hating this town of Aberdeen, Washington. The trees of the town grew tall, taller than any building or house in this gloomy town. It seemed deserted, like a nuclear fallout occurred and the people who inhabited it were roaches that lingered during and after the explosion. Every house appeared the same, like a never ending loop set on a VCR. I was picked up from the plane by my uncle, Tony. He was a tall man, about 6'4, with big arms as if lifting weights was a thing to do here. Also he had a huge belly, making me think drinking beer was a big thing here too. His legs were long, as tall as the trees that grew in this town and his face was carved filled with craters. You could say he was the man on the moon. He brought me to his car, it was old and beat up as if he bought it from the gas station on its "no one's dumb enough to buy it sale." He opened the door to let me into the passenger seat, then he went to the other side and wiggled his way into his chair and started the car. "You're going to like it here son. It's an old great town with alotta different kinds of things to do," said Tony with a voice of enthusiasm. "Doesn't seem that way, and by the way it's Josh. I am not your son," I replied back. "Listen here, Josh!" Tony inforced back. "I can call you whatever I damn well please. You're riding in my car, about to live in my house so I can take care of your smartass. Now I don't know what you city folks do back in New York, but this is Washington, all the way across the goddamn country. So as long as you are under my roof you will respect me, now do I make myself clear." I clenched my fist as hard as I could trying to tame my emotions, trying to withdraw myself from saying something that I am unable to take back. Doing something that highly unlike my character, such as smashing his head into the dashboard, but when a man loses his mother he doesn't care what makes sense anymore. Yet, I had to keep my composure. I replied and said, "Clear." We had finally reached our destination, a small white house with a grey fence and a small unkempt yard with growing weeds and brown unwatered grass. The house looked unkempt as well. The paint was peeling off the walls as if it were trying to escape this dreadful town. There were two windows out front. One was covered in dust with spider webs covering  the outskirts of it, while the other was bolted up with wood in the shape of a cross waiting for my hands and feet to be nailed right up against it. "It ain't much, but it's something." Tony replied. He had this look on his face as if he were ashamed of this place, as if he wanted to venture off into world and leave everything behind. Yet, that wasn't an option. I turned to Tony with a look of satisfaction on my face and said, "Well, it's better than what I had before." Sadly that was true. After my mom passed I lived with my father, Malcolm, for about two years. Even though he was my father, he sure didn't seem like one. I would go to school everyday with a black eye and bruised ribs, telling everyone that I fell downstairs or something ridiculous like I was ran over by a deer on the road. Living with my father was hell, it was non-stop torture. Everyday being beaten with raging fists just angry at the world taking it on his own flesh and blood. With his breath reeking of whiskey and a body drenched in shame. It came to a point where I was used to the beatings and the insults, well until the last time I saw my father. It was a Tuesday afternoon. I just left school, walking home in a slow and steady pass so I wouldn't have to deal with my pest driven home and my father. I walk into the building, walking up the stairs hoping my father would be on one of his mid day drinking bins at Boe’s Bar. I stand next to the door with my keys shaking in my hands trying to open the door to my own personal hell. I opened the door trying to sneak past the living tip toeing to my closet sized room. As soon as I gazed over the couch I saw him,beelzebub, watching tv with a wife beater and shorts on. Mumbling to himself with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. I slowly walked past him, but as soon as I stepped foot in front of my bedroom door he yelled out, “ Josh, get yo monkey ass over here, now!” I was frozen with fear and terrified of what was to come of me. I could tell by the way he slurred his words and the dozens of bottles on the floor that my father was quite frequently intoxicated. I walked over to the living room to the very couch that had reeked of aftershave and alcohol that my father lied upon and mumbled, “Yes papa?” I was too scared to look him in the eyes, so scared that I was almost unable to stand. he turned around to look me in the face with his cold heartless eyes and his pale yet yellow tinted face. “You think you can walk in here at this time you useless prick, not taking care of yo daddy, making him run out of beer and cigs just so you can eat.” He’s said this countless of times before,yet his words seemed to affect me. All I could say and all that came out of my mouth was, “I’m sorry, for the inconvenience.” Yet he replied, “Sorry, thats all you have to say is sorry. Yo whore of a mother left me with you and you’re sorry. Well since yo so sorry, I’m guessing I’ll give you something to be sorry about.” He raised his fist, swingly them towards me having no regard on whether I lived or died. He hit me in the chest cocking his fist back in place. I fell on the floor, falling on broken beer bottles cutting my back and tearing my arm. He stepped towards me cocking his leg back and started to kick me in the ribs, constantly over and over again. I felt every one of my ribs burst in immense pain. He stopped bent over looked at me in the eyes and whispered into my ear. “You are a worthless child, you know that right. Don’t expect me to take care of you anymore, you might as well just leave.” He walked away putting on his dirty coat and beer stained pants and walked out the door. I crawled to my room passing broken glass cigarette ash and unknown liquids that had stained the floor for month. I got up to open my door turning the knob to my cellardoor. I walked to my bed staring it down as if it was the only thing in my room. I rolled onto my bed staring at the ceiling while the blood from my back and arm soaked into my sheets. I only looked up just thinking to myself, life can’t be this bad, just wishing my mother would have never died so I wouldn’t have to deal with this torment.   My father came back home, turning the keys into his own personal nightmare. I could hear him stumble into the living room falling over onto the couch and then just silence. All I could hear was the sound of my father snoring with his breath following every single heartbeat. I walked out of my room as silent as possible. I peeped my head over to look at my father passed out on the couch with the same clothes he went out with. I went in the kitchen and grabbed my ticket home. I walked back to the living room with the key out of this place in my hand, walking towards my father staring him down as if he was the only thing in this dark room. I stand over him watching his every breath and looking at everyone of his features. I shrug him, trying to wake him up from his sleep. He wakes up and says, “What do you want?” I look him in his cold black eyes and say, “I want to show you how useless I really am!” I jab the knife into his neck just watching the blood gush out of his neck and smiling at him knowing that I am finally free that I have unlocked the gate outside of my cellardoor. “Josh are you ok?” I wake up from my day dream. Uncle Tony looks at me with a concerned look on his face. I stop smile at him and say, “Yeah I’m fine, I’m fine.“ Lets see what it’s like to live with my fathers brother.